


too much sun too soon

by erintoknow



Series: Aria-Rough Drafts [35]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Kissing, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Panic Attacks, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 23:20:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20938442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erintoknow/pseuds/erintoknow
Summary: You need to talk to someone about this. Someone, anyone. Before you do something even dumber then you already have.





	1. you've got a lot of love in you

**Author's Note:**

> title and chapter titles from [[Best to Hate the Man by Mermaidens]](https://mermaidens.bandcamp.com/track/best-to-hate-the-man)

When Dr. Finch enters the room, she does so carefully. A notebook tucked under one arm, one hand holds a cup of coffee, the other a mug of hot chocolate. The steam curls off in twin trails, gently spun by the ceiling fan. She sets the chocolate down on the coffee table in front of you before settling into her own chair.

“Good morning, Ariadne,” Dr. Finch, smiles. “How have been doing this week?”

You give a weak smile and bend down to take the mug in your hands, feel singe of heat on your fingers contrast against the chill of the A/C. “I’m… I’m still here.”

“I’m glad you are.” You can’t pick up any duplicity there, but it’s hard to believe.

These sessions were supposed to be only once a month. That’s what you promised Ortega. And yet… here you are, two weeks after you last talk with Finch, having made an emergency appointment. After…

After last night.

You curl back into the chair, legs folded under you, bringing the mug close to your chest. “I don’t know that I am.”

Finch already has her notebook open, pen in one hand, coffee in the other. “Did you try the exercises I give you?”

“Yes.” You say immediately, then when Dr. Finch doesn’t say anything you take a sip of hot chocolate, let it burn your throat. “…no.”

Again, that frustrating lack of judgement as Finch watches you. “You’re not sure?”

You almost laugh, jostling the mug. “I don’t– I don’t deserve it.”

“To feel better?” Finch scribbles something in her notebook, the concern in her thoughts is cool, almost calming.

You bite your lip, nod your head.

“What makes you think you don’t deserve to feel better?” Finch glances down to her notepad– Writing? Doodling? Can’t tell from here. But you can still feel her focus on you.

Maybe the chocolate wasn’t the best idea after all. You can already feel the nausea eating at you. “There’s…. there’s a lot things. But…”

Finch waits for you to continue.

You squeeze your eyes shut hard enough to hurt. “I– I– I don’t know how to–” Your voice strains upwards. Sharp note. “To– to talk about it.”

That one’s true enough. You can’t exactly dump everything on this poor woman and expect to get away with it. So much effort to keep everything in, it’s like you lost the key to open the door again. But the rot is reaching critical mass; the stench is detectable from outside, strange pools of liquid leak out under the door.

“Why don’t we practice then?” She glances up at you again. “Whatever’s at the top of your mind. Doesn’t matter what.”

“Whatever’s at the top of…” You bite you lip. You mind’s gone blank now. You could laugh, or cry, or both. “_Fuck_.” You take a long drink from your mug. Put it back on the coffee table before drawing your knees up against your chest. Wrap your arms around your legs. “D–d–do you… know who–” you flinch, back away from the question, “_w–what_ I am?”

You can only pick up professional curiosity behind Dr. Finch’s polite smile. “I’m happy to listen to whatever you want to share with me, Ariadne.”

“Y–yeah, well… I– I wasn’t…” you’re teetering on the edge here. How many years since you’ve had a conversation like this? Since anyone knew? You’re so tired of hiding. Of being alone. “I wasn’t uh– _born_ a– uh– a woman.”

Finch scribbles something in her notebook and you can feel the anxiety twist in your gut. “Transgender…?”

Grip your legs tighter against you. “Y–y–yeah.”

“I’m honored you’ve decided to share this with me.”

That gets a sharp look from you, again, you can’t pick out any duplicity behind her words. If you were smarter, less desperate, you wouldn’t trust it. “D–d–don’t patronize me.”

“I’m being completely sincere.” Again, to your frustration, she appears to be telling the truth. “This is clearly a difficult subject for you, and I’m honored you’ve trusted me with it.”

“I–I–I just… need you to underst–stand the context,” you swallow, the tightness in your throat a pain, “when I– when I say I… k–k–kissed Ortega.”

“Again?”

You hiss and pull yourself tighter, hide your face behind your knees. “M–m-more then that…”


	2. follow your eyes around the room

You put up a hand when the server turns to you, “I’m good. Not hungry today.”

“Ari…” Ortega looks over at you with upturned eyebrows. “Have you eaten today?”

You can feel your face heat up as you sink down in the seat. “Fine,” you hiss, “I’ll have the– the same as her.”

Ortega winks at the server again as she turns in her menu. You don’t need telepathy to know she’s got the poor kid hooked. God, you swear she’s gotten even worse compared to the old days.

Or maybe you’ve gotten more sensitive to it.

Ortega leans back with a smile as the server leans. “Feels homey here.”

“Y–you know, you c–c–could do this.” You prop your head up with an arm on the bar, “just retire, g–get a bar…” your smile grows sharp, “flirt with the c–customers all day…”

“I don’t flirt.” Ortega pointedly avoids looking at you as she fails to keep the grin off her face. There’s a twinge and her smile fades, “It’s moot anyway, I’m not retired any more. Blew that chance.”

You look up at her, trying to read the expression on her face. “You ever regret going back?” What do you need to do or say to get her to stop? She quit once, why can’t she quit again? Before she gets hurt.

Ortega’s response however is immediate, “Nope.” She gives you a look, “Do you regret retiring?”

You lean back from the table, focus on looking out the window. You should just lie, say everything’s fine. Nothing to worry about here but then you open your mouth and – “I… I–I don’t know. M–maybe.” You close your eyes and for a moment it feels like the weeks of sleepless nights might catch up with you, pull you under. Then you cringe, shake your head, feel the little pinpricks of pain courtesy your hand digging too tight into your leg.

“Ariadne…”

“D–don’t even start.”

“I’m not asking you to… unretire,” The smile has vanished from Ortega’s face, voice low. “Just to do something about it.”

Watch her from the corner of your eye. Still can’t understand it, why is she trying so hard? What does she care for? “Funny.” Try to keep your face blank, “Thought I was.”

“Is…” Ortega sighs and you catch her glancing around before focusing back on you. “Is the therapy helping any?”

“Oh.” You flinch, turn back from the window to stall for time with a drink from your glass. “I don’t know..” You gesture helplessly at the ceiling. “M–maybe? It’s… it’s a lot. I–I–I don’t want to talk about it right now… S–sorry.”

Still bad enough what you admitted to Dr. Finch. The razors, the bridge, the… all the little iterent thoughts like devils pulling at your head. Whispered promises of stopping, a way out: of ending, of no longer being. Maybe not in detail but – acknowledging it at all… it’s a raw nerve burning in open air now. Ortega’s already bad enough, she doesn’t need to know this.

“It’s fine,” Ortega lies. Always too curious for her own good. “I’m just happy you’re going.”

You narrow your eyes at her, “D–don’t rub it in, Ortega.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She sips at her beer but her eyes betray the smile on her face.

“Liar.” You drum your fingers on the table, glance over the heads of the crowd towards the back of the restaurant. “How long do you th–think they’ll take?”

Ortega shrugs, a half smile on her face as she watches you. “The Old Fashioned always takes longer,” she explains, as if you could have forgotten.

“I know,” you cut her off, “they make the burger with actual beef.” You and Ortega must have eaten out at Hoots at least once a week those last two years. Too many nights together, just the two of you. This is starting to feel–

“I was feeling a little nostalgic.” Ortega shrugs, still smiling.

You huff and raise an eyebrow at her. “Oh, so it’s y–your fault.”

She laughs, “You ordered it too.”

“Also y–your fault.” You allow yourself a smirk, “You c–can… make it up to me later.” Oh, why did you say that?

A long, slow smile spreads across Ortega’s face until it reaches her eyes, “I wish you’d let me do _exactly_ that.” It’s like she took that wink directed at the server, turned it up to 11 and put you on blast.

“Th–th–that’s not–um…” You bite your lip, and focus on the cars passing by outside, a tinge of heat on your face as your heart races.

“Mmm? Cat got your tongue, Ari?”

You slide down your seat, “J–j–just shut up. Think about w–what you’ll eat.” You hiss.

“Already am.”

You glance up at her and the smile alone is already is too much and then she _winks_ at you and oh god –

You bury your face in your hands. Shouldn’t have taken off the sunglasses, you’re too exposed without them. “J–j–jesus Christ, Ortega…” What were you thinking, trying to flirt with Ortega? The woman has no sense of shame, and you? Far too much. _God_. Why can’t you be normal?

The laughter rings in your ears long after it ends. “You okay under there, Ari?”

“Oh,” your voice cracks, “j–j–just wishing I was d–d–dead is all.”

“What happened to all that earlier confidence?”

She hasn’t forgotten about the kiss at either the hospital or the beach, it appears. Neither have you, of course. Dreamed even.

“Th–this is– this is different.” Too real. Too out of your control. Ortega is a current and you’re along just along for the ride. “I–I–I’m trying…” You can’t keep doing this. This has to stop. You’re just setting her up for an even worst heartache down the line.

It isn’t fair, really. You’ve cast off their rules and you’re still as powerless as ever.

There’s an uneven smile on Ortega’s face. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

You glare at her, suspicious, from between your fingers. “See _what_ day?”

She’s trying not to smile so brightly. Trying and failing. “Oh, well…” She gestures towards you. “You seem like you’re doing a lot better lately.”

You put your arms down, lean back unimpressed. “And what does that mean?”

“Well, you stopped dressing like a hobo for one–”

You gasp, throw your napkin at her, “W–what was wrong with th–the sweatshirts!?”

Ortega laughs as she grabs it out of the air. “–you certainly seem like you’re keeping busy these days, and…”

“And w–what, Ortega?”

She gives you a sly grin, one hand around her drink. “And you certainly seem to be getting back in shape.”

You feel your face warm up.

“Oh yeah,” she tilts her head towards you, “also, you’re smiling more.”

A hand shoots up to cover your mouth and you narrow your eyes at Ortega’s beaming face. “Shut up,” you hiss. “It’s y–y–your fault.”

“My fault?” Ortega laughs.

“It–it’s because you won’t leave me alone.” You jab an accusatory finger in her direction. “Always f–f–fussing, worrying…” Your hand wilts and you look away, her eyes on you suddenly too much. “And I don’t– don’t want you to worry.”

“Ari…?” Ortega’s voice sounds like she’s a million miles away. “Are you okay?”

You dig your nails into your arm, “I’m f–fine.” Your response is maybe a little too fast. Wince, then after a moment’s silence add: “I’m… glad we’re friends again. When you turn back to her, Ortega is looking straight at you with a small, sad smile. “W–what?”

“Nothing, I’m just… glad?”

“Glad?”

“To have you back?” She shrugs and rubs at the back of her neck. “It’s like I can finally… move on now. I don’t want to be the Marshal that screwed up and got half her team killed.”

Hands fiddle with the napkin in front of you and you don’t quite meet her eyes. “Ortega… It wasn’t–”

“Ari…” There’s a heavy sigh, “Let’s not do this right now.”

There’s a switch. You look up at her, “Julia?”

She straightens up as she looks over your shoulder, “And here’s our food!”

You frown. Let the server deliver the food. Chew your lip as Ortega broadens her smile, laughs a little too loudly with the server. Prod the hamburger in front of you. It’s huge. To say nothing of the generous pile of fries framing it on the plate. There’s no way you’re eating this all in one sitting, Ortega watching you or no.

But you’re getting distracted. “Th–this is new.” You say, once the server has left again.

That gets her attention, “What is?”

“You not w–wanting to talk about something.”

Her response is distant, defensive. “Well, everybody has things they don’t want to talk about.

“I guess th–that’s true.” As much as you want to push this harder, well, “I know I d–do.”

Now Ortega’s picking at her fries, as bad as you. “There’s a lot of shit I regret about back then. Thought I’d have to live with it forever.”

Regret?

She brightens up a little, “But now you’re here. And alive.”

“Like n–nothing ever changed.”

Did that come off too bitter? Ortega winces. “Or…” She twists a fry in her fingers, “maybe everything has.”

“Everything come out alright, girls?” The server is back and you have to fight to keep your face blank as Ortega smiles at him.

“It’s amazing, give my compliments to the cook, won’t you?” She winks and you could swear you feel the boy’s heart rate spike.

“And th–there’s something that hasn’t changed,” you mutter as the server leaves. You’d swear he’d float if he could.

“What?” Ortega frowns, like she doesn’t know what’s going on.

“Flirting with the– with the staff again?”

“What?” Picture of innocence? Please.

You grit your teeth. “Y–y–you know what I’m t–talking about Julia.” You should just drop this. Don’t let her get to you. In fact, why do you even care? You don’t. Care that is. Why would you? Absurd.

She hides her smile with another drink. “Why would you even, hm…”

“W–what?” You voice pitches up, “Even– even what?”

“Ariadne,” her smile is a little too broad for your liking and you can feel your face warm. “Are you _jealous_?”

“I– I don’t–” You sink down in your seat under Ortega’s full attention. “Y–you flirt with– with everybody. H–h–how am I s–supposed to– supposed to know w–what you mean?”

Ortega stays focused on you, but her expression shifts. Less confident, more guarded. “You can be pretty hard to read yourself, you know.”

You focus on the hamburger in front you, still untouched. Take a breath, in then out. “Th–there’s easy– easier ways of f–finding out.”

The hole of Ortega’s silence against the background dim of the bar feels overwhelming. You’re about to get up, make some excuse of needing to use the restroom when Ortega shifts in her seat too and you freeze. Look up at her.

She catches your eye, holds your gaze. “Alright.” She takes a breath, makes a face as she thinks. “Well, Ariadne, it would appear that I seem to be having a crush on you.”

“Oh.” You sit back down. It feels like you’ve been punched in the lungs, “fuck.” You bury your face in your hands again, feeling lightheaded. You’re going to wake up at any moment now. Right?

Ortega watches you with a wry look, “I don’t know how to interpret that.”

Slam your hands down on the table, narrowly avoid spilling your water. “F–f–fuck! Fine! Asshole! J–jackass! Y–y–you’re h–h–hot! Okay!?”

“Ariadne–”

You’re spiraling out of control now, hands holding on to the sides of your head. “Y–you’re r–r–really p–pretty and– and s–smart and k–kind and– and– and…” You glare at her, daring her to say something. “I–I–I c–c–can’t stop th–thinking about you!”

Ortega blinks. “Wow.”

Your face feels like it’s on fire and you slide down the seat. “F–f–fuck.”

“You went all-in there.”

“F–fuck you.”

“Only if you’re good.”

You blanche and look back up at her.

“I’m sorry, that was hard for you, I get it.” She’s not… smiling exactly, but there’s this soft glow on her face. The way her eyes focus on you and oh god. “Thank you.”

“Th–thank you?”

“For… I don’t know?” She laughs nervously, “For this? For saying something?”

This… this can’t really be happening. This isn’t how you imagined this conversation going in a million years. This isn’t something you deserve, and you’ve got one last card you can throw at her to prove it. “So… w–what about Jane?”

The expression on Julia’s face freezes. “Ah. You… you know about Jane then?”

“D–did you think I– that I wouldn’t?”

She winces, “It’s not exactly come up.”

It’s like grabbing the blade of a knife with your bare hands but you don’t let go. “Y–you go on d–dates to public events, Ortega.”

“Ah. That _is_ true…”

You knew it. You knew this was too good to be true. Why would Ortega ever want to date something like you when there’s someone like Jane? Young, pretty, funnier, able to do things you never can.

“I hope she doesn’t take it too hard.”

Wait, what? You straighten up in your seat. “Huh?”

Ortega rubs her neck, avoiding your eyes. “I guess I haven’t really been fair to Jane. It’s just…”

“Just w–what?” What is she talking about?

“Nothing,” Ortega shakes her head in a way that makes you think it’s very much _not_ nothing.

“W–wait. You’d… your seriously go–going to break up with her?” You feel faint again.

“We were never officially dating or anything,” Ortega protests, “But you or Jane? It’s no contest, Ari.”

“Just like that?” This is too wild.

“Look. You want the truth?” Ortega sighs, takes another drink. “I was trying to get over you.”

“Oh.” Your voice is quiet and your body feels entirely too light. “W–w–well. Th–that worked out, huh?”

The smile returns to her face, “Now I can enjoy fantasizing about kissing you, guilt free.”

“W–w–wait, what?”


	3. somehow against my will

Dr. Finch watches you with a soft smile as you lapse into silence. “I’m proud of you, Ariadne.”

You snap your head up, “wait? _Why_?” Fight back the temptation to just dig out the answer yourself.

Finch is writing something in her notebook but she pauses to smile at you again. “In the short time we’ve known each other, you’ve easily spent at least two-thirds of every session talking about Miss Ortega.”

Wait really?

“So,” Finch continues, “it’s been pretty clear to me you care about her a great deal. I’m glad to hear it’s both mutual and out in the open now.”

“B–but…”

“Yes?”

You press your head against your knees, fingers digging into your legs. “She… she doesn’t know.” Nausea again. Hands shaking, breathing a little too quickly.

Finch’s voice is calm, gentle. “Doesn’t know what?”


	4. i lose your hand

Like old times, Ortega insists on paying for you. You can’t hide the smile during your perfunctory argument. You feel light-headed, but in a good way. Like you could pull a Herald and float an inch off the ground. You don’t put up a fight when Ortega insists you take the rest of your dinner home with you. Maybe you will even finish eating later, like you promised you would.

Ortega follows behind you out of the bar as you gently shove the box into your purse. “Well,” she says, “I think that might be the best dinner I’ve had in months. But you know what would make an even better desert?”

You close your eyes as you knowingly step into the trap. “W–what?”

She glances at you, as smug as anything. “You.”

Even knowing it’s coming doesn’t stop your face from catching fire. You spin on your heel, intending to shush her with your finger. Instead she catches your hand by the wrist. “You’ve got some ketchup on your finger, Ari.”

Some kind of half-strangled squeak comes out of your throat as Ortega kisses the tip of your finger. There’s a flash of a smile at your reaction and she sucks your finger into her mouth – warm and soft and wet and oh fucking christ. You yank your hand back from her, ears burning as you stagger back a step.

Before you can collapse or fall over Ortega grabs your arm again and pulls you towards her and you fall against her instead into the street. “C–c–christ Julia…”

Ortega laughs, “Sorry, was that too forward?”

“J–j–just surprised.” You find yourself laughing too, and then relaxing against her chest, letting her arms hold you up.

“So then…?” She glances down at you, questioning and you find yourself brushing your hair back. Smile a little too widely. She smiles back and tugs you along. Past Hoots, and then down into the alleyway.

Back against brickwork, Ortega framed by the light, holding you there.You put a hand over hers on your shoulder. Heart pounding and you can’t think straight, can’t focus. It’s just you and her and you’re not running away from this, not this time. What have got yourself into girl?

You laugh first, light nervous energy thrumming across your limbs and then Ortega joins in. Laughter melts into touch and breath and you’re really doing this huh? Kissing Ortega again, your lips on her skin, between her teeth. It feels different, not an act of madness, a different kind of electricity coiling in your gut. Julia’s hand at your back, holding you steady, fingers brushing against bare skin under your shirt–

Your heart seizes and you freeze, one hand digging into her arm a little too tightly.

Ortega pulls back, letting go. “Ari? Are you alright? What happened?”

You run your hands down your front, tug your shirt down. Nothing can be exposed, nothing can be showing. “It’s f–f–fine.” Your hands are shaking in betrayal but there’s not a lot you can do about that. You messed up. You screwed up. What were you thinking. You can’t do this. Be this. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

She steps away, giving you space, “It’s obviously not fine, Ari… Did I do something wrong?”

“Y–y–your f–fine!” You hunch down, hugging yourself, struggling to remember your breathing exercises. “It–it–it isn’t your– your fault, I just– I just…” You feel dizzy, nauseous. Almost wish Julia would at least hold you, but she doesn’t, giving you space instead.

“It’s okay, Ari. You’re okay” She’s watching you with worried eyes and it’s a twist of the knife. Impossible not to pretend. You’re damaged. A weirdo, a freak. What kind of person reacts like this? Normal people don’t. _People_ don’t.

How could you forget? What’s wrong with you? You’re a thing, a ghost. You’ve got no business getting involved with Julia like this, and now she can see it. Plain as day.

“It’s– It’s not,” your voice breaks, “I n–n–need to– need to go.”

This was a mistake.

You turn to escape and something pulls your arm, hold you back even as you tense up. Follow Julia’s hand up to her face, worried. Concerned. “Ari, talk to me. _Please_.”

Shake your hand free, still trembling. “I–I–I can’t. I just– I can’t. I–I’m sorry.”


	5. budding fields i'll lose my mind

You dig into your leg, finger tracing patterns. “And– and then I j–just ran.”

“I’m sorry that happened.” Dr. Finch says, quiet and honest as ever.

“I–I–I haven’t t–talked to her since.”

“Since?” Dr. Finch tilts her head, mind a careful, infuriating, blank.

“This was… was two w–weeks ago, now.”

“What prompted you to call me last night?”

“I…” You drift off, avoid her looking at you. You don’t want to admit to having stared at the bottle of kitchen bleach a little too long last night. Every attempt you’ve discussed has been safely in the past. Not immediate. What if she suggests something? Alerts someone? You can’t risk it.

So instead you say: “She– she keeps trying to contact me. W–w–wants to talk. About it.”

“I thinkit would good for you to do that.”

“W–why?” You snap back, “I–I’m just– just a drain on her. And– and now she _knows_.” You bite your lip. “M–maybe not exactly, b–but that I–I’m messed up. B–broken.”

“First,” Finch scribbles something down. “you’ve been through a lot in your life. That doesn’t make you ‘broken.’ And neither does being transgender. It’s _okay_ to not always ‘be’ okay.”

You stay quiet. It’s easier than arguing. You wish it was true.

“Second, I’ll remind you who got you into this room to begin with. I sincerely doubt that the fact you are struggling at times is a surprise to Miss Ortega.”

This one you can’t leave alone. “I–I’m such a– such a burden on her though.” Not to mention her enemy as Adrestia. Not that you can confess that, even here.

“Has she ever said as such to you?”

You avoid Finch’s gaze. “N–n–no, but– she… she k–keeps saying I w–worry her.”

“And that bothers you.”

You look across the room at Finch, feeling helpless. “_Yes_?”

“Why?”

Your mouth feels dry, throat tight. You pull at your hair, avoiding look at Finch. “I–I… I don’t know. I…” You laugh, nervous energy overwhelming you. “I–I’m scared?”

“You’re scared of Ortega worrying about you?”

You laugh. “I– I guess I am.”

“Why?”

You stay quiet. Mind locked up in a silent panic. There’s an answer in there someone but it’s too terrible, too painful to grasp.

Finch shuffles some papers. “And now she has expressed interest in a relationship.”

“W–w–well…”

“Ariadne, have you ever been in a relationship before?”

Your heart freezes, and a tight smile forms on Dr. Finch’s face.

“Do you want to be? With Miss Ortega?”

“I… I don’t–” your voice pitches up, throat tight, “maybe?”

“We briefly talked about your being transgender before. Does that have something to do with why you find this so difficult?”

You choke back a laugh before it can turn into a sob. Yeah, sure, that’s _one_ of the many impossibilities about this. You’d forgotten you were using that as the shield to even have this conversation.

Finch’s voice is quiet, “You don’t have to tell her anything you don’t want to Ari–”

“B–but–”

She holds up a finger, “this is clearly a sticking point for you. Perhaps telling Ortega is something you should consider. Once it’s out in the open, you’ll have a better idea how to proceed.”

Tell Ortega? And then where does it stop? You might as well ask her to ship you back to the Farm from the start and get it over with.

“Or… Or…” You grit you teeth, swallow hard. “I c–could just… avoid Ortega forever.”

Finch watches you with sad eyes and she really is trying her best. It’s not her fault she doesn’t have the full picture. “But is that going to make you happy, Ariadne?”

You don’t even laugh as you sink into the chair. “Th–that’s n–never mattered.”

Dr. Finch sighs and shuffles some papers, flipping through her notebook. Her frustration with you clear in her thoughts. “We’re about out of time for today, but I’d really like to continue this sooner rather than later.”

You watch her as she taps a pen against paper.

“How are you for this time next week? Would you be willing to meet then?”

Part of you wants to say no, but… she wants to help. She… cares somehow. As nonsensical as it is. It’s not like you’ll be busy that day now that you’re avoiding Ortega. Come to think of it, Ortega is sort of avoiding you too. It’s been a while since Jane’s seen her at the training dojo. Not looking forward to that conversation.

“Ariadne?” Dr. Finch is looking at you.

You cough, “Th–that’s fine. I’d… I’d like that.” Are you lying or telling the truth? You can never tell anymore.


End file.
